


Talk the stars down from the sky

by GibbousLunation



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Ben being a good friend, Canonical Sad Sammy moments, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Canon, References to Depression, spoilers for everything up to and including ep 100
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GibbousLunation/pseuds/GibbousLunation
Summary: Chapter 3: Sammy’s love language is something with his hands, something he doesn’t have to put into words. Ben took a while to understand how to speak it back[A series of drabbles]
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Jack Wright, Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens, Sammy Stevens/Jack Wright
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get back in the groove of writing and I have far too much time on my hands to make any good excuse otherwise. Here's some snippets of things and ideas I've been conjuring up that wouldn't necessarily hold up on their own just for fun. Remember to stay tough and healthy and safe out there friends, I'm rooting for you. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are at the end notes.

There were five stages of grief, so someone said. All set up nicely in a row, like you were doing something productive if you moved from crying your eyes out every day to bleak numb stillness, like throwing things and tearing things apart was a step up or a step down from refusing to live in reality. Nobody had ever really explained to Sammy what they felt like, in practicality. The way they swung up and down, the way some stages past him in a blink, not even fully growing roots, while others took months for their thorns to die out.

Nobody really explained that they didn’t end, either. Some days you could find yourself mad as all hell all over again, feel like throwing things or just drinking until your thoughts unspooled from your head and the film reel of memories would finally be easier to manage. Some you'd wake up the next morning half thinking everything, all the horrible interwoven hells, that it was all a dream only to get sucker punched by the loss right there in your bed, because a part of you expected to roll over and see him again.

Sometimes you could feel more than one stage, all at once, or reach acceptance for the twentieth time in a month only to hate yourself viscerally the next for daring to be okay a moment later.

Nobody really explained to him, what the guilt was like. That part right after he let himself be angry, let himself be furious that Jack hadn’t listened, that he’d stuck his stupid nose in that stupid journal and let it spin him a yarn and pull him with it. When he’d stopped trying to convince himself he was furious at all in the first place, that it wasn't just a way of controlling all of it. That it wasn't just the part of him that kicked and clawed and refused to admit that it wouldn't have changed anything even if Jack told him.

After he'd finished tiring himself out pretending to be mad at anyone other than himself was when that little voice kicked in. The one that said things about seeing the signs, about betraying trust, the voice that told Sammy that Jack would never leave on his own. That was when it got the worst.

With Ben around all hours of the evening and a microphone sat somewhat questionably germ infested in front of each of him, it was easier to put that voice on hold. Put it under _‘lucky’ line 1_ and file it with a ‘fuck this entire thought’, and just joke and let himself breathe for a second. Ben looked at him sometimes like he’d personally had a hand in fitting the constellations above the treeline, like he was worth something and maybe, if Sammy was feeling extra hopeful, no amount of bullshit from Sammy’s past would change anything. It got easier to push everything else aside then, live in a space in between stages without Shotgun, or any rings, or any locked up storage rooms with keys he never touched, just Sammy and Ben. Just the stars in the sky and their two microphones, and ‘hey caller six, what’s on your mind this beautiful night’.

The problem was always that it didn’t last.

The show would end, Ben would head home to his adorable little apartment in this adorable and double sided town, and Sammy would…

Sammy would just stop, really.

He’d shuffle into his cold empty room, with boxes he never intended to unpack, dishes he never used because that felt too much like staying, still living out of his suitcase like it hadn’t been a year, two years, two and a half whole years, and just.

Stop.

At first he’d tried looking around town, digging into the library archives after swearing Emily to secrecy, poking around the woods, following up on rumors of missing hikers. They’d all been dead ends of course, too much about things that went bump in the night, and not enough about where it put them back down. Maybe it hadn’t even been a dead end, really. Just another thing on a long list of roadblocks Sammy had taken as cement walls because he hadn’t wanted to see what was there. Couldn’t even give up his damn pride when Jack was- when Jack… 

Sammy had known he wasn’t dead, somehow. Despite everything, he never believed Jack was gone entirely. His own mind wouldn't let him think about anything else, most days. Just Jack, trapped and alone, and Sammy would wake up screaming about him, big rounded out eyes, calling for help somewhere just beyond Sammy’s reach. The worst nights were the ones he woke up with Jack’s voice still ringing in his ears, repeating the awful things he’d snarked at him over his shoulder. 

He'd known Jack- knew, Jack- for more than half his life. He'd been in love with him for almost all of that time. From the very first second Jack had walked in to their shared 8 AM class, coffee stains all over his shirt and wordlessly passed Sammy an extra cup. Jack had never once tried to hurt him the way he had those last few weeks. Not the Jack that fretted, that talked so softly at him in the dead of night about how proud he was to know Sammy, about how happy he was. Not the Jack that cooed at baby birds and spoke on air about love like it was nothing to ever possibly be ashamed of. It was hard, without Jack there to beat back the swirling mess of his brain, to remember what Jack could have possibly ever seen in him. 

It was easy to feel guilty, then. Even easier to wrap himself up in it, like it was productive at all. He could pretend it was like having control, maybe, a way of keeping himself responsible for an entirely impossible series of events. Like somehow, if it was his fault enough that Jack hadn’t stopped for him, Sammy would be able to see the pieces that made up the whole fucked up picture. He could just blame himself for being happy for half a second, blame himself for not looking hard enough, blame himself for not having the god damned bravery to tell his best fucking friend that his fiancé was missing.

‘Hey Ben, Sammy Stevens is a radio host from the big city’ good, fine, easy enough. ‘Sammy Stevens used to be an asshole, on air.’ Little harder, but manageable. Anything laced with an insult tasted fine enough. ‘Hey, Ben, Sammy Stevens is a coward. He’s going to let you down. He already let his fiancé down and he’s not even brave enough to finish the job’. Yeah, well. Who’d want to hear that anyway.

The thing about the whole stages of grief thing, was that they didn’t really give you a manual for dealing with the fact that sometimes people were never actually dead. And sometimes, if you were beyond lucky and knew people with as much fire and tenacity as Ben Arnold, Lily Wright, and Emily Potter, they came _back._

What was the reverse of the five stages of grief? Well, he could check the little box for denial off, probably. If pure shock counted. And the way he’d woken up leaning against Jack’s palm in the hospital room, woken up with the same typical split second of peace before crushing reality pinned him beneath the usual tide of emptiness, only to have another wave of overwhelming reality leave him completely shattered moments later when he processed who’s heartbeat had been lulling him to rest for the past three hours.

The panic attack after was a little disorienting, a lot more guilt inducing for confusing reasons, but at least Jack had been mostly unconscious still and missed the whole spectacle.

Bargaining was sort of sidestepped. A little less begging a lot more resolutely refusing to leave anywhere without taking Jack with them. Shadowmaker-Debbie-Whoever was a problem for another day.

Sadness? Nothing to be sad about, the love of his life was breathing, had woken up for a split second in the hospital to grin dopily at him before passing out again, had told him he’d loved him with a rasping voice and watering eyes and Sammy had struggled to say it back around his heart cracking in his throat but he was _aliv_ e. Jack was _home_. Ben curled just there against his own frantic heartbeat, Emily squeezing the hand that wasn’t locked into Jack’s. Lily pacing two feet to the left, with Katie talking softly at her through her phone speaker. He had everything, more than he’d ever thought he’d get. A family. Jack was healing, too. Walking around after a few short weeks, remembering more and more, relearning how to be okay. And just the way he'd looked at Sammy, when Ben had practically launched out of his seat to volunteer their place as somewhere for Jack to recuperate. All wobbly legged and awed, like the kindness so inherent in Ben Arnold was the most amazing gift in the world, like he was so impossibly bursting with pride that Sammy had found him all on his own.

He loved Ben for everything he did, those first few weeks. For everything he'd been doing over the years. He just hated the way it made him feel so shitty. The way it made him realize, if he hadn't been so focused on making it to the big Air stations, about fitting in, how Jack could have had this all along. That Sammy and his cowardice had taken even more than five fucking years from the love of his life.

Anger. Check, check, and check.

He supposed he was at that stage sort of constantly. That’d been the hardest one to let go of the first time around, made sense it would be the last to leave.

Not that he was angry at Jack. Maybe he had been, once. A drunken night spent too long in an unfamiliar town with empty walls and quiet rooms singing back at him; maybe he’d been mad at Jack for not listening then. For daring to leave Sammy alone without him. For not walking back in and taking Sammy with him. Now, though. Now it was more of a miasma, a curled and wretched thing around his chest that he didn’t know how to breathe without anymore. The sting kept him focused, kept him here. Had almost swallowed him alive, but he’d pulled through somehow. Not by his own choice, to be fair, but the end result was the same.

Being unhappy with himself was sort of textbook Stevens at this point, enough wear and tear to nearly be a household joke. To be the sort of thing Lily could rib him with again. Or it would have, anyways. He’d tried to make it a thing for a bit, but Ben seemed to just, shut off whenever Sammy brought it up as breezy as you please. He’d get all round eyed and worried at Sammy, like it was personally his fault for not loving Sammy hard enough to make that part of his brain give it up and go home. Sort of took the fun out of it when Ben got like that, really.

It was easier to be unhappy with himself when Jack was missing, though, to be fair. And when he didn’t have a towns worth of people forcibly dragging him out to things like celebratory bonfires, or cook outs, or inviting themselves along to Jack and Sammy’s wedding plans, because of course Mary would be coordinating the reception, and of course Ben was the best man so that meant he’d be planning their ‘radio boys night’, and obviously Loretta made the best potatoes this side of Big Pine so she’d be supplying food and-

He just hated the fact he couldn’t seem to just, let himself believe he deserved it in the end.

Maybe if Jack didn’t have a limp now, or if there weren’t all these mottled scars lining his neck. If Jack didn’t have to lie down every few hours because his energy just wasn’t the same anymore, or if he could wrap his arms around Jack when he was cooking like he used to without it sending his fiancé into a strange catatonic panic attack state he’d have to lull him back out of. Almost six years was a long time to be stuck in the void, and it didn’t seem fully ready to let Jack Wright go. And that, ultimately, was Sammy’s fault.

If he’d only worked up the courage to tell Ben sooner, or been smarter, or believed in all of this faster. If only, if only Sammy was just…. _Better._

“Hey,” Jack nudged him, dragging Sammy forcibly back into the moment. They were curled up on the couch, their selection (really, Ben’s selection) for movie night still playing quietly in the background. Emily whispered quietly to Sammy’s left, evidently trying to untangle Ben’s octopus arms from around Sammy’s waist and drag him back to bed. Emily caught Sammy’s dazed stare and smiled at him, reaching up to push his bangs from Sammy’s brow, "Get some rest you two. Don't stay up too late."

Ben grumbled incoherently, but finally got up to follow Emily out of the room with a sleepy ‘night, love you’ thrown Sammy’s and Jack’s way.

Wasn’t that in itself fantastic? Ben was always so open and easy with loving everyone around him and he’d loved Jack from the moment he’d known Jack existed, but now he knew him, too. Now Jack and Ben had their own text chat full of cryptid memes and exclamation marks, and they both ganged up on Sammy on occasion when he got to ‘dad friend-y’ or didn’t understand internet things, and Ben _knew_ him. Wasn’t that amazing, Sammy? Wasn’t that enough?

Why the hell wasn't it enough.

“I can hear you thinking bad thoughts, you know,” Jack said softly, nudging his nose against Sammy’s temple and squeezing where his arm was looped easily around Sammy’s shoulder. His voice was light and teasing enough, but Sammy heard the implication, the underlying concern to it all. Sammy sighed.

“No _new_ bad thoughts, I promise,” he leaned over, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder instead and pecking him where he could reach the sharp line of Jack’s jaw. “Sorry for spacing out, seems like I missed a classic. With how much Ben drool is currently soaking into my shirt, must have been a real tear jerker.”

Jack snorted quietly. “He’ll be adamant that he saw the whole thing in the morning of course.”

“Mhmmm.” Sammy smiled back. Jack’s hand lifted, carding sweetly through Sammy’s hair. He’d mentioned he couldn’t get over how long it was now, before. Said he liked it with a sort of punched out awe struck look, like he was seeing a sunset for the first time again. Just for that alone, Sammy would weather an infinity of manbun jokes for the rest of his life. Jack called him a lumberjack looking Orlando Bloom impersonator, a high badge of honour.

“Not really like you to space out during a romcom, though,” Jack added, after a long moment. His hand moved to the side of Sammy’s cheek, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. Sammy sighed, and leaned more into Jack’s side. The downside to someone knowing him so well, arguably even better than Ben did, was the lack of deflection. Deflecting had been his only super power besides untold levels of snark in the past five years. The impenetrable Stevens Shield, shattered by one Jack Wright’s immense empathy and knowing smirk.

Damn.

“You know,” Jack’s hand stilled. “Ben told me something interesting the other day. Wondered if it might be bugging you.”

“Oh yeah? You know, they have a totally different name for Bigfoot here too. I bet he’s talked you up and down about their incomparable shoe sizes already, but the entirely different name thing they have going on here still gets me.”

“Mm,” Jack hummed, and Sammy knew Jack was an unmoving mountain in the face of Sammy’s infinite array of topic changing tactics, but _damn_ again. “He did mention something about custom hiking boots, yeah. But uh, no. He…. Thanked me, actually. For something I’m not sure I remember doing.”

“Oh?” That wasn’t entirely uncommon either, Jack had memory issues on top of everything else these days. Yet another scar to carry back from the void, Sammy guessed. Chunks of days sometimes just sort of…. Fell out of place. Some got lost and some found their ways back but in the wrong places. They adapted.

Jack went quiet again. Sammy listened to the gentle thrum of Jack’s heartbeat beneath his ear, and played with the fingers of Jack’s free hand aimlessly. He’d never tire of being able to have this, never ever again. He’d never get enough of Jack Wright (soon to be Jack Stevens-Wright), as long as he li—

“Ben thanked me for keeping you out of the Devil’s Doorstep, actually. Said, um. Said he thought it might have been me. That I stopped it from taking you. Knew you were doing something stupid and just,” his voice cracked slightly, and Sammy’s heart lurched. “Kept you safe.”

Oh.

“Thing is,” Jack continued, voice warbling now. “I don’t…. I don’t know that it was me. I know that… I would have done everything. Everything I could to keep you from being in that place with me, but I- I didn’t. I couldn’t even see you, near the end. I couldn’t tell you were right in front of me! And- it’s too much if you- I don’t think I did anything. And you could have—” His voice broke off entirely, and Sammy twisted and lurched upwards, cradling Jack’s face in his hands.

 _Oh god,_ Sammy thought, _he knows. He_ knows.

“Jack, I- no, you can’t blame yourself, I… I’m so sorry, okay? It was stupid, I—”

Jack was crying, silent tears creeping down his dark cheeks, and his hands had fallen to Sammy’s waist like he couldn’t make himself let go, like the world would have to fall apart entirely around them and the sun swallow them whole before Jack thought to so much as move. Like he was _terrified._

Sammy felt horrible.

“It _was_ stupid,” Jack sniffled, “Stupid of me to-to not listen to you. I know I wasn’t, at least I’m pretty sure I wasn’t in control near the end. And I would never have- I was _so_ awful to you, sweetheart and I can’t even begin to know how much that hurt you, but then I left you. I didn’t want to, I never would have- I left you behind, Sammy, and I promised I’d never—”

“You didn’t mean to! It wasn’t you, Jack, I know it wasn’t. I’m, I’d never blame you for going when I know you never meant to, please-please don’t cry, Jack-”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a flat line, eyes desperately sad in a way that hurt to look at, hurt to have directed on him. “You did blame me, though. For a minute? You…. I went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and- and Ben thinks I stopped you from following me anyway.”

The image of Ben, with how quiet and shaken he’d been the weeks following Sammy’s… well, the ‘Sammiversary’, murmuring a far too sincere thanks with that classic wobbling smile of his. The idea that he’d thought Jack would have fought the darkness, fought the impossible for Sammy just as much as they were fighting for Jack, just to keep Sammy safe. It was a lot. A fondness he’d never have the words to name rose in him, made his eyes burn with how intensely Ben just. Believed in Sammy. Believed in Jack despite never having met him.

And yet Sammy hadn’t believed in either of them enough to want to stay, had he?

“I’m a coward,” Sammy felt the steel in him caving, the foundations he’d made into a shield folding inwards like the dying star in his center had finally gone supernova. The black hole that was Sammy Steven’s pulling everything down around with it. Nothing more to hide, right?

“I wasn’t strong enough Jack, I let… I let you rot there for five fucking years, and I couldn’t even ask my best friend for help for most of that. I let you just, freeze there, alone in that hell, because I couldn’t fucking tell anyone how much I loved you. How can you…” His eyes widened, and he cut himself off. Jack looked…. Devastated.

He remembered something similar, once, to this moment. When Sammy had spent a little too long ruminating in all his failures, in all his badly outlined ideas of love and how he’d never earned it despite everything he cut off from himself, despite the fact he’d made himself fit into a mould that was never his, until Jack. Always until Jack. Jack had come home from hanging out with Lily and found Sammy nearly catatonic, all bowed inwards and sliding somewhere in between planes of being here and being anywhere else. He didn’t remember Jack panicking, didn’t remember the frantic phone calls or the calm soothing tones that eventually walked him back out from himself. For as long as he lived though, he’d remember that quiet devastation in Jack’s eyes when Sammy blearily asked why Jack was home so early. (Because he hadn’t asked that, really. Because he’d been mumbling about the uncertainty of what he’d always deserved, about that space within himself he could never seem to shorn down the right way, the part with all the splinters still sticking out).

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, hands coming up and fluttering somewhere around Jack’s cheeks. Wanting to push away the worry lines carving unfamiliar age across Jack’s face (or maybe it was Sammy, maybe it was Sammy forgetting. Five years was a long time, maybe he hadn’t thought about Jack enough). “Jack, please don’t, I-“

“Is that…. Is that what you really think? How can you- I… Sammy, you _saved_ me,” Jack’s voice went funny, a sort of sideways trip into steel and uncertainty that couldn’t possibly exist together. Jack had always been good at that, making things he wanted real.

Sammy shook his head, there were so many ways he could untangle that. So many holes to poke. “I almost didn’t, though,” he said instead.

Jack winced and Sammy felt like slinking into the mud outside, just piling it on top of himself and taking a nap until he could spontaneously figure out how to fix this. Fix… all of this, his head, who he fundamentally seemed to be as a person with all the various anxieties and meltdowns. He didn’t used to be like this, he’d had problems they’d worked through and so had Jack, but now… It was like he was mourning a Jack that wasn’t here when Jack was right in front of him. Like he was mad at the Jack who’d left but not the one that came back and they couldn’t be made into the same person. It was like he was fighting not to lose someone who wasn’t leaving. Jack deserved better, he was back and everything should be perfect right? Except it was Sammy and those stupid stages of not-grief he wasn’t experiencing, just tossing everything around and making a mess of him.

“Oh, _sweet_ heart, shh,” Jack moved in even closer, until their foreheads were almost touching, until Sammy’s whole world was those wide dark, kind, eyes. “I need you to breathe with me, Sammy.” Oh, Sammy blinked, not realizing he’d begun half trembling outside himself in the encroaching storm of his thoughts. Yeah, he could do that. He moved a hand to Jack’s chest, over his heart, and closed his eyes.

One of Jack’s hands slid around to the back of Sammy’s neck, slowly playing with the hair at his nape. Sammy breathed, shakily, then more grounded. “I don’t care about what you almost _didn’t_ do, Sammy. Because, and I know you won’t let it stick in that beautiful head of yours, but I’ll say it anyways… You’ve always been stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’ve always been exactly what I need. I care about the fact you're hurting.”

Ben had said something similar to him once, too. Maybe he'd just been hurting the people around him all along, really. He focused on breathing out through his nose, on Jack’s heart thrumming under his palm, on Jack’s large, warm hand wrapped around his neck. Points of gravitational pull, enough to pull all his parts back together.

“You would have gotten me out,” Sammy managed, after a long moment. Jack’s hand paused, then resumed it’s gentle threading. “If it was reversed, you wouldn’t have given up.”

Jack’s laugh was a sad quiet thing. “The faith you have in me… wish you could have half of that for yourself sometimes.”

His eyes opened, something hot and fierce burning through his heart. “You wouldn’t have. You’re the most stubborn person I know outside of Ben. And he fuckin’ blew up a spaceship.”

The lopsided sad smile on Jack’s face faded, something three parts contemplative and one part tragic cresting in its place. Jack dropped his hands with a sigh, and bundled Sammy’s between both of his hands, just there against his chest. Like they were both finally on the same tempo, a ship finding the lighthouse. Something less god damned melodramatic, maybe.

“Sammy Stevens, without you I’d... I'd be lost, really.” Jack whispered. His fingers found the ring on Sammy’s hand, just resting there. “I wouldn’t know how to believe in anything if you weren’t around. You know you make me brave, right? If it had taken you instead- If I’d brought it into our home and you’d been the one to-“ Jack cut himself off, voice creaking into half remembered horrors. He closed his eyes for a minute. “It doesn’t matter what I would have done.” Jack said decisively. “Because you would have been too smart to leave in the first place.” 

“Well,” it was… hard to argue with that. Sammy wouldn’t have let Jack leave either if he’d known- no, if he’d been listening. Would have stayed up until the twilight hours and then beyond if he’d known Jack was planning to sneak out before the dawn hit. But if he'd been getting the phone calls? If he'd been the one planning in journals and late night notes? He wouldn't have been able to go to King Falls and leave Jack in their home alone. Wouldn't have even thought about it. Not because of smarts or anything noteworthy, just because the only parts of Sammy he liked were all Jack and he was never brave enough to do anything on his own.

“You would have got me out,” Sammy said instead.

“You _did,_ Sammy. You found friends to help you and you got me back. You know me, I probably would have thought I could do it all on my own and ended up making it all worse.”

His chest felt too small somehow, like there was a key rattling just out of reach and something clawing to escape. “Five years,” he whispered. Jack’s hands squeezed.

“Think of it this way, babe. All the time left in the world to make up for it, hm?”

That… that was all Sammy wanted. That was everything, wasn’t it? Maybe that could be real, maybe he could stop mourning all the lost treasures they still had locked up in some dingy storage unit outside of town. Maybe it didn’t have to hurt to see the photos anymore, because Jack would be here to make more of them.

He bowed his head. “I can’t… I can’t stop feeling guilty. I was going to leave you there. I was gunna join you, but. There were all these times before that, when it was just so damn quiet in my shitty apartment, and there was nothing there worth giving a shit about. But then, Ben would call. Or he’d text some wild thing going on at town hall, or I’d just, think about how lost he’d be before he had Emily. How he needed me.” Sammy shrugged, eyes stinging finally. “I should have been able to do it for you, too. I just kept thinking about- there’s the storage locker where I put our bed and-and your favorite chair, and how if you’d never sit in them again they weren’t worth keeping. But I still couldn’t throw them out. I should have known you weren’t gone, shouldn’t I?”

Jack inhaled sharply, and let go of Sammy’s hands to pull him in closer, pressing his lips to Sammy’s temple. His lips felt dry, his hands on Sammy’s waist dug in a little too much. He was shaking just slightly, just enough to be out of focus.

Sammy had done that to him, too. He’d taken their quiet movie night and broken it apart into halves and quarters and left Jack scared, clinging on with everything in him like Sammy would just get up and walk into the Void now, with nothing to meet him there. Like Sammy was planning on leaving his bed in the storage locker, like Jack would have to toss Sammy’s things in with it.

Wasn’t he, though? Anger wasn’t acceptance yet, and the stages kept overlapping and cresting in strange strung out pale waves. Maybe it was reasonable to worry that Sammy wasn’t quite all there yet. Sammy, but a little to the left, and Jack with a little more scars than skin. What a pair. 

The thought was the closing line of poetry, in a way. That nice little footnote to tuck the whole climactic ending together.

There was still the Shadow Maker, somewhere out there. Still Debbie, still prophecies upon prophecies, but there was also Jack. And Ben, and Emily, and four walls around them with years upon years left to get to that last stage. Get to where it felt like he deserved any of it.

Jack leaned his head on Sammy’s shoulder, and pushed his nose just against the crook of Sammy’s neck. He sighed, it felt a little less panicked, maybe a little worried and a little hollowed out, but Jack had never been one to let pessimism drag him down too long. “I think,” He started, and Sammy lifted his hand to circle Jack’s head, holding him carefully against himself. They used to sit like this in their old place, back with those awful yellow curtains and the yard they’d dreamed about maybe having a dog to play around in, maybe some barbeque nights. The house they’d dreamed about a future in patches that never felt quite safe enough to make stick. And now…

“I think maybe it’s enough that I’m here, and you’re here. And neither of us is going anywhere, and Ben’s just down the hall. Maybe it’s enough we have this, just for right now.”

Now, there was a town full of people that knew Jack Wright and Sammy Stevens, and knew Jack and Sammy. There was a radio station with his best friend, and a forest where you couldn’t trust the signs, and absolute nonsense happening at least every other week. There was a house, with blue curtains and two bedrooms for four people, a yard, and a whole mountainside beyond that where things like futures could be made of concrete and big ideas.

Maybe there was room for this, too. 

Jack’s heartbeat felt like it echoed his own, from how close they were. A fixed point on a horizon, blinking back into view. A lighthouse telling him where it was safe to land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: references to suicide attempt, references to suicidal ideation, depression, and mild dissociation related thoughts. 
> 
> If you have a King Falls prompt idea for me I'll probably lose it, firstly, but also you're welcome to hmu @clankclunk on twitter or tumblr (or klunkcat on tumblr because technically thats where I'm supposed to write things lmao)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since his rescue, Jack has good days and bad days. On good days he can smile and go for picnics and relax with Sammy while they finally feel normal again, and forget all the scars and unspoken fears for just a moment. Maybe Sammy and him would go get groceries, or stop by Troy and Loretta’s for some barbeque. Maybe Ben and Emily would drag them into some competitive charades match or an overly cutesy picnic double date that Jack would have to struggle not to start swooning over, and Sammy would pretend to hate while grinning.
> 
> Maybe they’d just watch TV or listen to music and play their new favorite game.
> 
> “In two years…. We could have a dog.”
> 
> He's trying very hard not to have any bad days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings in the end notes! 
> 
> Getting hopefully in the swing of forcing myself not to leave things as WIPs, starting mainly with more Sad Stuff. Or rather, emotional hurt/comfort as they say, with Ben the ultimate comfort giver. I feel like the world would be better with more Ben hugs.

“I know you can’t love alone  
Maybe slowly you can learn again  
If your heart doesn’t want to give in  
Doesn’t feel the passion, doesn’t want to hurt  
Without making plans about what comes after  
My heart can love for the both of us.”

— Salvador Sobral, “Amar pelos dois” (Love for the both of us)

* * *

Some days, he felt okay.

Jack would wake up from a genuinely restful sleep, nightmare and sleep paralysis free, find Sammy’s messy haired, snoring face beside him, and fall that much more in love. He’d manage to get himself to the kitchen without any old aches or flare ups, start a pot of coffee, and actually feel the warmth from the morning sun on his skin. And he’d feel okay.

Maybe Sammy and him would go get groceries, or stop by Troy and Loretta’s for some barbeque. Maybe Ben and Emily would drag them into some competitive charades match or an overly cutesy picnic double date that Jack would have to struggle not to start swooning over, and Sammy would pretend to hate while grinning.

Maybe they’d just watch TV or listen to music and play their new favorite game.

“In two years…. We could have a dog.”

“Definitely not. A cat, probably.”

“Can we name it Kingsie Jr?”

“Ron says Kingsie would get jealous, you asked him this already.”

“Hm. Okay. In…. five years. Your own radio station?”

“It’d be your station, Jack. You’re the businessman. But first you gotta be able to convince Merv to sell it.”

“First I have to determine whether or not Merv is real, you mean. My expert haggling skills aside, should be a piece of cake.”

“Fine, alright.” Sammy’s words were warmed by his smile, the way his long fingers played with the Jack’s ring. “Our own station.”

“Ben and Sammy show as the big hit prime time special, of course.” Jack pressed a kiss to his temple and thought of this. Just this, forever.

Then, with the change in winds maybe, or some lost coin flip, he’d wake and be locked in place. Or to Sammy’s wide eyes and tear stained cheeks, or to a grey nothing, an expanse nothing could break through and he’d think ‘I’m back there, I’m back there, I was never anywhere else’ and feel his heart rioting to hold onto any hope at all.

Worse yet, following the day where Ben had thanked him for stopping Sammy’s side step into oblivion (when really, Benjamin Arnold, as if Jack could stomach that 'thanks', knowing how many different infinitudes of ways that he’d saved Sammy in Jack’s absence), he’d wake with the nothing and think for one horrible second when Sammy’s voice filtered through hazily, that nothing had stopped Sammy after all. An eternity of leeching awful cold was only manageable if Sammy was safe, if he’d avoided dragging Sammy with him after all. If his running and planning and attempts to leave Sammy out of it all had worked. Otherwise… Well, there wasn't really room for an otherwise. 

It would fade, eventually. It always faded. Feeling would filter back into his system, always with the hummingbird press of Sammy’s heartbeat, held just there between their palms. Then, it would be like his chest unlocked, some thread cut loose, and he could move again, and he’d just squeeze Sammy’s hand and wait for the void to leave last.

Days that started with fighting himself back into being a person always went poorly. If he was particularly shook up, Sammy would crawl back into bed with him, push his hair back from his eyes (he needed a haircut, really badly, but there was something about the buzzing and the vulnerability that he couldn’t package small enough yet to manage), and let Jack curl up against his chest, face hidden in the crook of his neck, and wait for everything to feel real again. Other days, he’d stubbornly pretend he could force the day into a brighter shade and suffer the consequences of however long he’d spent locked up tight in aching increments. Or there’d be a migraine. Or he’d forget something basic like the name of the town they were in, or who Troy was, or how to start the coffee machine. Or he’d find himself floating off somewhere and lose chunks of the day to sitting still and trying to get himself to just, get up and turn the laundry machine on, come _on Jack._

It was easy to be frustrated. He probably could handle the hang ups eventually, learn how to readjust to a new normal. He’d been starting to, even. The Jack Wright specialty was a energy drink laced kind of stubborn refusal to let anything keep him down for too long. He'd have willed himself to be just fine, if it were up to him. Stuffed it all into a box inside a box and shoved that into a back door in his mind that he'd just stay far away from. He’d have managed, too, if it wasn't for Sammy.

Hard to refuse to acknowledge pain when Sammy would wince or furrow his brows, or look absolutely hollowed out and one blow from tumbling apart every single time Jack clutched at his bad leg, or moved wrong and had to steady himself against a dizzy spell. Like he saw Jack struggling and thought it was his fault. Like Jack would ever be anything but entirely grateful, amazed by, and beyond proud of Sammy for everything he and Ben and Emily and Lily had done to get him here.

Sammy looked at Jack and he felt _guilty._

They’d been together long enough Jack could barely remember what it was like to not have Sammy. First as a classmate, then a best friend. A boyfriend, a fiancé. Soon, a _husband_. He’d been there when Sammy’s parents cut him off, cooked a terrible turkey dinner for his first holiday following. He’d been the first one Sammy had admitted he maybe wasn’t into girls at all, actually, and the first person outside of Lily that Jack confided in back. Jack had taken Sammy to his first therapy appointment, and Sammy had helped him through two break-ups before they finally pulled their heads out of their asses and ended up making out in an empty lecture hall. He'd been there for every birthday, every bad day, every amazing one. They'd practically been inseparable since day one, had their own language of inside jokes and could read a conversation from a glance. Jack _knew_ Sammy. And he’d never had anyone know him the way Sammy did.

He knew how Sammy got, when the list of should have’s outweighed what was right there in front of him. When he chose to shut people out and refuse help because he thought in some messed up way he was only worthwhile when he was fine, thank you. He knew the way Sammy snarked and bit words out like daggers because it was easier than admit that some things hurt. He’d seen so many of Sammy’s worst and best days, seen him at his pettiest and his most giving, and he loved all of it.

Jack had never seen Sammy like this, though.

This Sammy let his hair grow out long, let people tease him and didn’t pretend anything back. This Sammy had a bit of grey right there by his temples, laugh lines and bags under his eyes that never seemed to fade. This one was shaken in a way Jack had never known Sammy to be, a way that was outward and obvious and wasn’t hiding under a Shotgun persona in the slightest. He was just… scared. And stressed. And impossibly, achingly, guilty.

The worst part of all of it, the center of the tar, poisonous laced core, was that it was Jack’s fault.

He was the one that hadn't listened, had said whatever he could to get Sammy to leave him be. He’d gone and let himself get pulled into things he didn’t understand, he was the one who’d shut Sammy out, who’d said those awful things to him, who’d left when Sammy was literally begging him to _talk-_

So, yeah. Maybe they were stuck in a loop a little.

There was a strange stumble before the swan dive, here. One where there should have been a crescendo to a hard fought and earned happy ending, where Sammy gets to pump his fist and walk off into the sunset knowing he'd beaten the day, and yet instead, there was a crater. A sinkhole.

Waking up to see Sammy on his first day back in the warmth felt like heaven. He couldn't even speak at first, too afraid to ruin the dream, the one nice moment of peace he'd had in-. He’d opened his eyes, saw the new wrinkles on Sammy’s brow, the different hair, the different way he’d carried himself and just thought, _if this could be real._ He’d thought a thousand different ways to say I love you, a thousand more ways to apologize, and if he’d hadn’t been half out of his mind with dehydration, he probably would have cried. It had been hard to breathe, nonetheless, hard to do anything but reach for him and feel so incredibly grateful that Sammy had done nothing but reach back. 

A glowing mess of a blond halo beside his tired face, relief etching two twin lines down his pale cheeks, Sammy Stevens looked for all the world like something legendary. Something too fantastical to put into words, a heavenly body not meant to be looked directly at without burning apart, but one Jack would spend his life gladly scorching under. He’d never looked more beautiful than in those terrible fluorescent lights, holding Jack’s hand in his like a prayer, trembling as though he was struggling in the same ways to see Jack.

But then…

Jack didn’t know where to put Sammy’s apologies. Where to stack his hard-turned mouth, his stiff shoulders, the gazes that kept flickering away. He couldn’t find room for them between the myriad of ways he loved Sammy Stevens, and the thousands of ways Jack had let him down in return.

The thing about marriage was that there was a series of promises. A promise to stand by each other, through the good and the bad. A promise to stay. The thing about Sammy was that there’d always been a million more; words he’d carefully woven against the thin wavering shield of trust just next to Sammy’s heart, ones about caring, about stubbornly adoring, about listening and being heard. He’d won every inch of trust with years of patience and so much overwhelming love, and he’d gone and thrown it into the back seat of his shitty van and drove off into the night anyways.

He had no more room for Sammy’s guilt, not when he couldn’t understand it. Sammy Stevens had fought the impossible with nothing but love and trust and won Jack from it, but that didn’t seem to be enough for him.

“Where do you see us in two years,” Jack whispered to himself. Fighting a losing game, watching Sammy drag himself down the steps of self beratement nobody wanted for him. Watching Sammy eat away at himself more and more and doing nothing to stop it. He sighed.

“Well, I’d hope for starters, maybe in a bigger house?”

Jack jumped, pivoted away from the window, nearly spilling hot coffee across his entire hand, and successfully spilling coffee across his hoodie instead.

Ben blinked at him, clearly stuck somewhere between laughing and being intensely concerned. Part of him hoped Ben would make some goofy joke out of it, make everything seem normal for a moment. It would be a little perfect, if he did. Sammy had first started talking to him with a coffee stained shirt in a far too early morning lecture hall, too. Ben’s expression wavered towards the latter after a moment, Jack smothered another sigh. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, dude!”

“It’s fine! Just didn’t think anyone was home. Lost in thought, you know,” he shrugged, with a sheepish smile. At least the stain wouldn’t set this time.

Ben hummed. “Here, at least let me wash your hoodie then, man. My fault, and all.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t like not wearing sleeves, or things with high collars. He had a baggy t-shirt on underneath, and, as everyone kept insisting, he was healing so it wasn’t like he was self conscious about looking presentable. It was just… the way Sammy looked at the scars. The way his eyes would track away, and then back, like he was punishing himself by committing each to memory. The way everyone would get a little somber, a little sadder, when they noticed. Ben’s eyes softened.

“Or not, it’s okay.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair. He could change the subject, of course. Ben wouldn’t push. The guy seemed to have a good gauge on when it was okay to needle and when to let things lie, and his heart was massive. Sammy’d told him Ben hadn’t always been so in tune or empathetic, Jack couldn’t imagine him any other way. Maybe…. Maybe that was a good enough reason to try.

“Sorry, Ben. I just. I know how everyone gets about them,” he shrugged again. “Can’t deal with the whole blame game thing today, I guess.”

Ben paused, probably reassessing a little. Jack and him hit it off instantly, of course. Jack had never had another cryptid fan to geek out over, or someone as stubbornly heated about minor inconsequential things. Sammy said he’d been a bit worried they were too similar, at first. That they’d end up arguing in a not fun way without adult supervision. Sammy was of course, wrong. Arguing with Ben was always fun, and they’d been fast friends immediately. Despite that, though, Jack hadn’t really… talked to Ben. About any of it. About Sammy or his own experiences or any part of the in-betweens. He supposed he felt like that was Sammy’s place, Sammy’s person, and he’d be encroaching in some intangible way.

“Your scars are badass, I think. Means you made it through, right? I don’t mind.”

Then again, Ben’s heart was made of gold and one thousand storeys’ tall. Maybe there was room for Jack there too.

“That’s… that’s one way of looking at it. Don’t think Sammy sees it that way.” He held his breath, turning with forced casualness towards the kitchen. It wasn’t that he was worried, necessarily. Just that, Jack’s guilt and frustration felt like it was pouring out of him in tar like waves, and he didn’t know how Ben could listen without getting pulled under. Maybe it was selfish, to talk about how hard any of this was for him, anyways. Everyone was always talking about whether Jack was okay. It was just that his need for Sammy to be alright was making everything seem so much more dangerous. So much cloudier.

“You know how Sammy is,” Ben hedged, after a moment, following him into the kitchen. “he’s a worrier. Wouldn’t know what to do with all his free time if he didn’t worry.”

Jack snorted, dropping his mug into the dishwasher and leaning back on the counter. Probably a bit too heavily with the way Ben started forward.

“Oh, shit- do you need to sit down? I can help you get to the couch if it’s your leg-“

Jack waved him off. “No, Ben, thank you but. I’m okay. Just, a little tired.”

Ben edged back towards their kitchen table, worrying his lip. “Okay.” He glanced at the floor, then back up. “Is that why you were playing the ‘two years’ game alone in the apartment?”

Ah.

Jack flushed. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

“That’s- not what I meant, Jack. It’s, I mean it’s your house too. Do whatever you want, man, really. Unless it involves tearing literal walls down or pinning up Channel 13 posters, I don’t care. I just meant-“ Ben huffed. “I know you and Sammy aren’t doing too hot lately. More ways than one. Just… thought I could listen, maybe?”

It amazed him, most days. The fact that Ben had appeared in Sammy’s life exactly when Sammy needed him; someone to be strong for, to mentor maybe, but also someone who looked at the stars and made plans and missions and loved enough for the entire world. Ben was something special, a cosmic level of serendipity bundled up in a beanie, a tornado of stubborn confidence and trust with a hoodie that was always a little too big for him.

He’d been there, pulling Jack from the ether alongside Sammy, with a hand outstretched and a ‘welcome home’ before he’d even known him.

Jack’s eyes burned.

“I… I don’t know, what to say really.” Jack started, stumbled. Ben’s careful lean rounded out, eyes widening.

“That’s okay, too. I- you can tell me to shut up whenever, obviously, but. Emily and I were talking about… what it was like for her, when she came back? I dunno, she’s so smart she had some fancy way of saying it, but it sounded a lot like… she needed someplace to… to be sad about what she lost. And she didn’t have me for a bit there, so it got kind of tangled up for her. I’m not saying you don’t have Sammy, but… well.” Ben shrugged with a wry, cautious grin. “You know how Sammy is.”

Meaning of course the ways Sammy pulled blame towards him like he was a dragon hoarding gold. The ways he was viscerally Not Okay and trying to be so much for Jack, and the fact there was just some things Sammy couldn’t fix. And far too much Jack couldn’t say.

“I just thought…. If you need someone to be sad with? Man, that sounds so goofy…” Ben rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, and Jack thought of Lily and he thought of Sammy and he thought of home and this, right here with these walls.

_Where do you see yourself in two years?_

Maybe it wasn’t even a question of whether he could pull Sammy back from his own thoughts, or whether Jack was strong enough to deal with things without breaking down. Maybe it was a question of family, of for once, god, finally, not needing to be okay. Not needing to be just the two of them versus everyone.

A bigger house, Ben had said. Like it was his house, too. And of course, of course, Ben, and Jack huffed as a smile fought its way shakily across his lips, because Ben would be the only one to have this all figured out from the start.

“I just think it’s okay to be sad sometimes, as long as you’re working on not being one day. And, man, you guys did so much of this just the two of you. I think…. I think if anything this whole prophecy shit really made it clear that we’re strong as hell together. So… you know. You don’t have to do this part alone, either.”

Jack shook his head. “Ben, you’re really something else.” And he shifted, after a moment to the empty chair across from Ben, and it didn’t feel so terrible then. “You called it grief?”

Ben smiled, a little sadly. He slowly sank into the chair across from him, eyes hopeful, and damn, Jack loved him for it, could cry with how immensely grateful he was for Ben Arnold.

“Missing six years is hard, right?”

Jack sighed. “I don’t even remember most of it, shouldn’t that make it better? Sammy was out here, suffering that whole time.”

“I… I don’t think you can compare them? You missed years of your own time, dude. Not just Sammy’s. And besides, as much as he never once stopped thinking about you, we were watchin’ out for him, too.”

Jack pursed his lips. “He blames himself for me being gone. I don’t understand why, Ben.”

Ben shifted, carefully reached a hand across until it landed on Jack’s knuckles, resting on the tabletop. “I dunno if grief always makes sense. Sammy… he missed you, a lot. More than I think he can say.”

“I feel terrible for that, for-for doing that to him.”

Ben’s hand tightened. “I think…. Maybe you both need to stop blaming yourselves, and maybe start blaming the asshole that did this to you guys? You know, the supernatural entity that literally wants to destroy everyone?”

Jack laughed quietly. “You make a lot of sense, Ben. It’s just, hard. When he looks at me like…”

“Like you being back isn’t everything?” Ben finished with a twist of his lips. “Yeah, I…. I used to do that with Emily, I think. She came back and she didn’t remember and I was so happy to see her but, it was like the version of her I knew wasn’t there anymore.”

That was it, pretty much. This Jack was a little broken, a little too scared and fragile. And this Sammy was a little faded out, but softer at the same time. They were….different.

“Sammy spent a long time listening to the bad shit in his head. He’ll get through it. I think you’re both trying to deal with the fact that you’re different. It’s- Jack, it’s okay to be sad anyways. Even when it doesn’t make sense.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I hate hurting him.”

“You’re not, Jack. He loves you, so, so much. Practically moons about you every time you walk around the corner, and it- man, it makes me so happy? To see you both here, and okay, it’s. Wow. But, Jack. It’s gunna take time, too. To figure all this brain shit out. To feel safe. And, man, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you guys get all of that, the cute wedding and teeth rotting PDA perfect couple stuff. All of it. But it’ll take time, and you gotta let yourself heal, too.” Ben bit his lip, glancing down at the table with that spitfire lighting up in his dark eyes again. “That means being not okay if you’re not okay, or-or getting Emily to drag Sammy out on errands so you can have some down time, or… whatever you need, Jack.”

It was kind of like being at the center of a storm; feeling that immense space of universe and power swirling around you and feeling all at once impossibly small and so, so known. A force of nature that was utterly and entirely uncontainable.

“You get that we love you, too, right?”

Maybe he’d woken up with a bad dream, and shuffled into the bathroom to calm himself down before Sammy noticed. Maybe he’d nearly passed out in the shower and worried Sammy anyways. Maybe he’d been delegated to staying home because his energy levels had tanked abruptly, and Sammy had looked so worried and sad but Emily couldn’t do the groceries alone. Maybe his leg kept freezing up and jolting pain all the way up his spine until he could feel it in his fingers, and he’d spent the first few moments of being home alone for the first time in months like a seal ready to burst.

“Yeah, Ben. I think I’m starting to.”

Maybe today he wasn’t okay, but maybe there was still a future where he could be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: chronic pain, scars and being uncomfortable of them, references to dissociation, guilt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy’s love language is something with his hands, something he doesn’t have to put into words. Ben took a while to understand how to speak it back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pats Sammy on the arm* this bad boy can fit so much internal self-projection, it's amazing actually.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are in the end notes.

Emotions weren’t something that came easy for him. They always seemed burrowed somehow, tucked away between the gums of his teeth or the lining of his ribs or twisted up behind his eyes. He felt things, wholly and intensely, sure, it was the naming that seemed impossible most days.

He could say that he appreciated people when he did, that they were his friends or family even, sure. He could talk about someone’s bravery or their strength and send compliments he meant with every fiber of his chest all day long. Yet, whenever he tried to believe it was a permanent thing, that caught him up. The knowing, the believing in a constant.

There it was, folded up and crumpled in the dust of his lungs. An old fear it swam deep between his heartbeats, a worry that he couldn’t do this the right way. The way he was supposed to. The whole… trusting his feelings part of existence.

He’d dated Jack for almost four years before he’d managed to stumble out an awkward I love you, caught somewhere between terror and euphoria at the way Jack’s dazzling grin sparkled back at him, the way his arm tightened around his waist, the way Jack peppered his face with kisses afterwards and all these open, honest sweet nothings in return. Sammy’d loved him since before they’d been dating, of course, but it always felt less than somehow. He overthought it too much, spun his feelings around in his hands until they blurred and went grey and he couldn’t make sense of them if he tried.

Jack and Ben never seemed to have the same problem. They just, felt. With their whole hearts and minds they jumped head first in and never for a second doubted what it was. They loved people, and they knew it. They disliked people, envied others, got all glowy eyed and fond over others yet, and they never worried about whether it would hold up over time. Whether their feelings were enough.

Sammy had grown up in a house full of ‘supposed to’s’ he guessed; they had a kid because that’s what people did, got married right out of high school because that’s what everyone thought they should do. Cut their own horrible gay son right out the second he dared to think on what he felt too, because that’s what people did in his neighborhood.

Maybe he’d never learned to just do things because he wanted them, until Jack. He’d gone to college because that was the track he’d been set on since preschool, gotten into business because that’s where the money was, following the white lines his father laid out for him even after he stopped calling for holidays or sending money his way. And then he’d met Jack Wright, and trip-fallen somewhere else with journalism classes and creative writing, and suddenly they were both running off to chase big dreams that Sammy hadn’t even realized he’d had.

Jack was… undefinable. He’d always known what he wanted, a career in radio, a degree, to live somewhere he could be himself, and it didn’t ever seem to scare him the way it did with Sammy. Even his anxieties were nameable, something he had pill bottle prescriptions for and therapists, something he could define and work past. Not a roadblock, but a detour. Jack was amazing for so many reasons, but his bravery was on another level. A cosmic wave of sunlight from the center of the universe. Something bright and unquantifiable.

Sammy couldn’t be brave like that. Feel things loudly enough to love with his words. It was okay, maybe. Jack had taught him it was okay at least, when he’d smile like he knew with every container of overnight oats and restocked medicine cabinet. It still wasn’t right, though. That Sammy couldn’t say it in the beautiful flowery speeches everyone else seemed to manage like breathing. That he couldn’t just trust that it was actually okay to be happy, without all the names and the words. Jack understood, seemed to know what it meant, and that was enough. Until it wasn’t, of course.

The problem for the longest time after moving to King Falls, when Ben started saying things like best friend and family and home, was that he was terrified. Maybe he’d convinced himself that Jack was the only person on the earth or off it that could read Sammy the right ways, because every time he tried to tell Ben what he meant to him it was like he was swallowing gravel, and he would shake and tremble and make terrible excuses to head out instead of grabbing breakfast because he was so afraid this would be it. The moment Ben looked at him, and saw him, and found him wanting. He wanted to say that he treasured Ben, that he was the only thing holding him together on the rocky days, on the grey paint days, on every day in between. He imagined over and over, telling Ben that if there was one thing he never expected to want after moving here, it was to stay, but that with every passing moment he was more and more sure he was going to give out under the pressure he kept piling on himself. He wanted to tell Ben about Jack, have him squeeze his hands in response and tell him they would go on breathing and fighting, that Sammy didn’t have to do it alone, but he couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t pull them out of his chest without dragging up all the barbs and broken bits and tearing himself up from the inside, too.

To talk about Jack was… He couldn’t. It hurt.

But then, Ben was shaking and broken and messy, too. And Sammy could do that part, he could love enough for that much, to be the anchor for Ben’s waves to moor against. He could gather up all of Ben’s parts and soothe them back into resting. Mom friend, Ben would call him. You mean too much to me to watch you break like this, Sammy would press back, silently, and wish he was just a fraction braver.

“Sammy,” Ben called, swooping in through the open door with a wild look in his eyes. “You didn’t grab your jacket, dude! It’s like, November out there.”

Sammy frowned, laughed. “It’s barely November, Ben. Office’s plenty warm.”

Ben shook his head, curls flying out all over. “Yeah, okay, but, Sammy. You gotta leave at some point, and your trucks heating is shit, sorry but it is, and you got a cold last year around now so- take it, okay?”

Sammy blinked, and let Ben plop his jacket unceremoniously into his numbed hand.

“Anyways, I’m grabbing food before we take over. I owe Chet a coffee from last week, so I’ll grab your weird mocha order, too, ‘kay? Be back in twenty!”

There were… moments, Sammy was realizing.

Ben had always been a physically affectionate kind of guy. Definitely something Sammy both froze up in the face of and was endlessly grateful for, took lots of wear and tear to have him not flinch away from. Which was good, because the Ben of four years ago had too many rushing thoughts and runaway trains in his brain to notice, and Sammy had lots of practice forcing himself into the right habits. Ben meant well, obviously. He loved with his arms and his cheek pressed into your chest and a flurry of motion, and Sammy was so touched, because he could see well enough that Ben wasn’t like that with everyone. He didn’t fling hugs at Ron, or brush Herschel’s shoulders, or pat Emily on the arm thoughtlessly when he stood up (at least, not until much, much later). Sammy knew when he was being handed a gift.

And he took it, would continue to for as long as he lived provided it kept Ben smiling like the entire sun.

It was only that Sammy’s household was all firm pats and frigid hugs made of expectations, and the last person who hugged him so easily had been ripped away from him in the dead of night. It was a love that he knew, that he understood, but it didn’t translate the right way in his backwards heart.

Lately, though. The record was scratching less, somehow. The barbs in his chest smoothed here and there. Ben was different, a good different, and Sammy didn’t know how to place it.

“Oh, you don’t have to pick up groceries this week, man. I got it!” Ben bounced over and swiped the grocery list from Sammy’s hands before he could say a word.

“But- Ben, you got groceries last week! If I’m going to be crashing-“

“Living!” Ben cut in.

“Staying,” Sammy rolled his eyes. “At your place-“

“Ours!”

“Ugh. The least I can do is get you groceries, you know. Fair share and all.”

Ben paused in the hallway, a split-second moment of tense shoulders that had Sammy inwardly wincing. Wrong words, again, of course. Ben looked over at him, round dark eyes and pursed lips, and Sammy waited for the tentative reassurances that Sammy owed him nothing. The heavily implied tone that suggested him being whole and…. Alive… was more than enough. He appreciated it, so much, he did, but it was the words and the speeches and they didn’t reach into his heart and patch all the chipped and weary parts of him the way Ben wanted them to. After the mountain and the phone call- well, Sammy thought it was almost fair that he was tired. Easy to say all the words you meant when you thought you’d never get to say them again, probably. Didn’t mean he had to like facing the reality where everyone had heard him say them.

Which wasn’t to say of course that any of them had been bad about it, far from that. They’d just been. Careful. Tentatively telling him they loved him, watching him a little too closely, trying to pretend like he hadn’t nearly cannonballed into a goodbye without even saying as much first. Ben was particularly hard to manage lately, because Sammy couldn’t look at him without feeling horrendously guilty most days. He kept waiting for the anger to kick in, probably. Or the teary discussions about why’s and Sammy would have to try to explain the mess his brain lived in most days without entirely cracking apart. Or, worst of all, the awkward disappointment because really, Ben had thought he was better than this, even if Sammy knew he wasn’t.

He watched Ben nervously, watched him consciously uncoil his shoulders, and decide…something. He waited.

Ben just sighed and smiled. Lopsided and fond. And patted him on the shoulder, after a long moment.

“If you’re offering to cook, I’m happy to at least pick up the supplies!”

Sammy… had no rebuttal for that, actually. “Fine.”

“Great! See you soon!”

It was subtle, like an image you can only fully focus when you’ve been shown what should be clear.

The Ben from years ago was boisterous, always happy to lean on Sammy like he knew Sammy would be there, but equally as willing to say a stream of nice and reassuring things. The Ben he first met would give him odd side glances, like he was disappointed Sammy hadn’t dived in for a hug, or that he wasn’t saying everything all at once. Like he was frustrated but cautious about the piles and piles on Sammy’s shoulders he’d never learned to unearth.

Ben still leaned on him, of course. And Sammy’s new instinct was to pull him in closer and lean back. There was also something else.

“Sammy, you have to be careful.” Ben looked up at him, eyes shining just the side of too bright, as they hobbled him to the car. “Shit- go slow, okay? You’re- that’s a lot of blood….” He swallowed roughly.

Sammy wheezed, let himself lean more into Ben tucked under his arm and fought back a wave of dizziness. “I’m okay, Ben. If I swear I will not bleed out in the car, will you breathe a little? Can’t really help you if you pass out on me.”

“Don’t joke about that, man!” Ben jostled him lightly, very carefully, and Sammy still had to fight back a hiss. Maybe this was a little worse than he was letting on, but he was okay. He was eighty percent certain he was not actually about to bleed out in the car. Maybe seventy-five.

“I just had to watch you get half squeezed to death by a fuckin’ imitation Terminator, man, I’m worried!”

“Hey, to be fair, I’m not the one that punched him.”

“Yeah, fine, and my knuckles thank you for noticing, but I’m not the one bleeding, like, a metric shit tonne, so.”

They stumbled towards the car before Sammy could reply, Ben shoving the door open and easing Sammy into the backseat only somewhat awkwardly. Sammy did let out a hiss, then.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ben squeaked, and reached around him, shuffling for something. Sammy took a moment to close his eyes and try to package the pain somewhere else just so he wouldn’t actually make Ben have a meltdown. It… stung a lot. Probably what he got for fighting a humanized can opener with only his bare fists. Then again, he’d basically only been trying to use himself as bait so Ben could escape, so. Yeah, not his most well thought out plan.

Ben breathed, only a little shakily. “Okay, lean up here for me. Keep uh, keep pressure on that though. Easy, easy.”

He placed an arm underneath Sammy’s back, helping him sit halfway up without pulling at the wound on his side too intensely. Sammy kept his eyes shut and focused on not yelling out in pain, nonetheless.

“Okay, so, this is going to sting. I need you to know I cried the last time I had to use this, and it was just for a scraped knee, so if you yell, I’d. It would be completely understandable and not at all a sign of anything other than your uh, you know, toughness, is what I’m saying, okay? So... uh. Yeah.”

“Ben, just do it,” Sammy grunted.

“Okay! Okay, just. It’s gunna sting, and I’m really, really sorry.”

Fuck, it did. Sammy definitely yelled a little. Only a little. Ben’s whimpering apologies stung so much worse though.

“What—” Sammy gasped. “What are you apologizing for, doofus. You’re not the robot people eater that tried to spear me.”

“I- yeah, no, Timbot is a dick. But, you know. I made it worse a little bit, and anyways you ever heard of bedside manner, old man? It’s called sympathy, alright.”

Sammy snorted, and leaned his head back to rest on the car seat behind him for a minute. “Old man? Says the literal infant.”

“Legal adult by like, six years, thank you.”

Ben shuffled through the seats again, “Okay, I need you to lift your shirt a little for a second and- yeah perfect.” Sammy felt the distinct press of bandages against his side, along with the rip of tape. “Okay, yeah that should hold you for now. Gotta get you to a hospital ASAP, though. And… well maybe Ron will help reupholster this for cheap.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got savings. Mr. Roboto still behind us?” He peaked an eye open to watch as Ben checked over his shoulder, scanning the horizon with a small frown.

“No, uh, no… I think we’re good. Herschel scared him off. Jeeze, we owe that man like, I dunno. An entire fishing boat or something probably.”

Sammy nodded, dazedly, and eased his way back up to sitting with only a small wince. He glanced down at his side. Ben had done an amazing job despite how hard he was shaking. “When’d you get so good at this?”

Ben shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Seemed like an important thing to know.”

Sammy could see strings of words floating unspoken between the two of them, most of them highlighted in rainbow hues that made his eyes sting. Something about Sammy’s recklessness and unwillingness to wait for Ben to show up and help. He thought maybe, someone else would have a profound gratitude to place here. With the yellow halo behind Ben’s head and the beeping car door, and the quiet of the night, it seemed a fitting haven for words he couldn’t manage otherwise.

“Thanks, Ben,” he all but whispered instead.

The street around them was still, like it usually was when they were bumbling around outside of work these days, Ben glanced up and the overhead made his eyes practically glow.

“Taking care of your sorry ass is my job, at this point.” He smirked, it didn’t quite crinkle his eyes the right way, but Sammy smiled back anyways.

The thing was, about the two of them, that they often skirted around what they really meant. A lot more filler words than actual substance, mainly because something about trying to name what he meant prickled underneath Sammy’s skin in uncomfortable ways. Mainly because saying things that he didn’t mean reminded him too much of days in a sweaty over bright studio.

Sammy’d never had many friends outside of Jack, and… haltingly, Lily. In his drunken moments, he’d think very clearly that it was because if he didn’t find flaws with everyone around him, he’d have to actually worry about whether he’d measure up. Something about that lack of control set his teeth on edge. Made him feel small and too big for his skin all at once. He’d known people that had wanted to get to know him, said all the right things and been so kind and wonderful, and he didn’t know how to tell them that there was something wrong with the way he felt without falling into a cliché. Because Sammy couldn’t just talk about how he felt with people, let himself be vulnerable or say things he didn’t mean, and he only meant them when he felt steady enough to. Because he was pretty sure the pit in his brain was rotting around the edges, and the idea of tomorrow was too much to handle most days, especially with someone waiting for him to get there.

His trust was a hard-won thing with teeth, maybe. It wasn’t even a very good prize once the glitter faded, but he couldn’t seem to manage to let most people try.

It wasn’t exactly like living in King Falls had made that easier to manage, but more that no one here seemed to be willing to let him slide away from social gatherings the way he’d gotten so good at doing before. He couldn’t just skip out on Mary Jensen’s cookout with a smile and a ‘my best to the kids’, because she’d bodily drag him there if he wasn’t at least honest about being exhausted or whatever else he was feeling. He couldn’t ditch breakfast with Troy without the guy sending Ben after him or showing up outside his work with breakfast to go the next day.

It terrified him, for a long time. Being seen by everyone all the time. That they wanted to know him, Sammy Stevens, and not just the co-worker Shotgun version of him that smiled at the right moments and asked how your weekends were and brought coffees now and again.

Sometimes it still scared him. Sometimes the words got lost and threaded themselves around his chest and squeezed, and it was all he could do to say thank you and get out of there before he self destructed in front of all those sets of warm eyes. He didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t the type to just, settle in and breathe out and believe everything would be fine. That he’d spent more than half his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the curtain to rise and for everyone to find out the wizard was just a coward after all. He’d always be a little certain that he was uncertain, that his feelings were not his own.

The thing was, about the two of them, Ben and Sammy, was that Ben had sharper eyes than he let on, that he’d been carving out a place for himself in Sammy’s heart since day one, and it seemed like that meant more than a one way street after all. Ben, kind-hearted and emotional Ben, had been paying attention.

Ben tossed blankets over to him these days without saying anything. He made three cups of cocoa and made sure Jack’s side of the couch had the comfiest pillows in case his spine started acting up again, turned on the lamps at night when Jack got too into his books, and picked up ingredients for overnight oats without even needing them to be on the list.

It felt a lot like being seen, in a way Sammy had never expected, or hoped he’d ever get again outside of Jack. It felt like Sammy’s stupid brain and weird habits and annoying overthinking was a test Ben had been preparing for, that he’d been willing to sit down and work through the questions and came up on the other side with a hand outstretched and no pressure except that he wouldn’t leave without him. Ben wasn’t worried about how long it might take for Sammy to figure the words out, because he was setting his roots down for a nice long ‘forever’, and for once. Sammy wasn’t afraid.

“Ben,” he’d say finally, and reach out an arm to catch Ben’s wrist as he placed an extra blanket or a mug of coffee. “I never thought I was doing this right. I never thought I deserved any of this.”

Or maybe “You didn’t have to try so hard, but I’m so grateful, I’m so lucky to have you and Emily and Jack and Lily and— it’s so much, I don’t know how to explain.”

Or, “I know where I belong, where Jack and I fit.”

Except, maybe he’d only manage a mildly panicked glance that met Ben’s measuring look and get a soft smile in response. Or a fond head shake. Or some variation of ‘shove over, you’re so boney’ as he settled in beside him and Jack like he’d been crafted by the universe right there, like it was obvious.

Maybe it was.

And Sammy, for all that he struggled to explain how he felt or know what it was that burned through him with most anything else, would know that there was nothing in this world or any other like Benjamin Arnold. Sammy, for all he overthought everything, for all the years he’d spent wondering if he loved in the right frequency, couldn’t find it in him to question it. Ben would shuffle closer and laugh a little louder, and shove his elbow into Sammy’s side and, miracle of miracles, Sammy wouldn’t have to say anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always catch me at ClankClunk most places and I hope you're all hangin in there
> 
> Warnings for: implied depression/suicidal ideation, self-esteem issues, blood/injury


End file.
